


Clipped

by lildogie



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bulges and Nooks, Fingering, M/M, Offscreen Karkat♦Gamzee, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1481935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lildogie/pseuds/lildogie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The latest outrage Sollux has perpetrated upon himself will not be borne.  Not without a lot of high volume cursing, anyhow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clipped

"Oh my fucking god," Karkat sputters, and snatches your left hand off the keyboard with both of his.  "What did you _do_ to yourself?"

 

You don't react for a moment.  You let the annoyance bubble until your horns spark.  You don't like to be interrupted while typing.  You especially do not like to be interrupted while coding.  Most of the time, you'd be satisfied being physically attached to your keyboard.  People who come between the two of you are foolhardy and imminently doomed.

 

You didn't invite Karkat this time.  You don't usually.  He just shows up periodically, lets himself in—with the code you admittedly could have changed—and proceeds to tango on your last two nerves.  He says it's for your own good, but you both know he's full of it.  Or you do, anyway.

 

Tonight, he's been hanging around your workstation since he arrived, whining at you to feed him.  You told him to swallow his own bulge, because like hell do you owe hospitality to a hivecrasher, but that didn't stop him.  He started out on a chair, but as the whining increased in pitch, he slowly slid off and wound up on the floor, kicking at you like a petulant wiggler.  Then he crept up the side of your desk like an aggressive fungal infection, pissing and moaning the whole way.  You tuned that out.  You've been friends a long time, and you wouldn't have managed without flipping black if you hadn't developed that filter.  But now, all of a sudden, this.  You can't code one-handed.  Not at a respectable speed.  You'll have to kill him.

 

You hit Save with your right hand.  Again for good measure.  Then you slowly turn your head.  All that premium menace is lost on the mutant-blooded wonder, however, because he's still staring at your hand like it's on fire.  "KK," you say, "if you're actually so hungry you're hallucinating my hand is a grubsteak or something, go in the fucking nutritionblock and—"  He cuts you off by shoving your hand practically into your face.  "KK..." you snarl through clenched teeth, but he interrupts you again.

 

"Your _claws_ , you festering bulge-waffle!  What the slurry-guzzling fuck happened to your _claws?_ "

 

Your vision refocuses on the fingertips a mere inch from your nose.  Unlike Karkat's, which are curved talons practically as long as the last joint of each finger, your claws are cut right down to the quick—past it, where you were careless.  You glance at the ceiling, trying to remember when you started doing this.  It was a while ago.  Has it been that long since Karkat last barged in?

 

"Clipped 'em," you say.

 

His eyes widen, and the crimson that's begun to seep through the gray of his irises flushes a shade brighter as blood suffuses his cheeks.  His grip on your hand tightens as he leans forward.  " _Who?_ " he hisses.  "Who motherfucking clipped your motherfucking claws?"

 

You freeze, then have to resist the urge to shift in your seat.  You stare back at him for a moment, then smirk.  "Who do you think?" you drawl.

 

The tips of his claws dent your skin.  He _growls_.  "I _told_ you," he says.  "I _told_ you not to go pitch with him.  This is _too_ much.  I'll motherfucking filet that hemophobic piece of—"

 

"Okay, _whoa_ ," you say, your own eyes wide.  There's a part of you that desperately wants to confirm his suspicion, because Karkat's vicious protective streak is making it hard to sit still, but there's a more vocal part that's disgusted with you for the impulse, and self-loathing always wins a Captor internal argument.  "Slow down, KK.  I cut them myself."

 

Some of the tension bleeds from his stance, and you hate yourself for the disappointment you feel.  He's still angry, but what else is new?  "You what," he says flatly.

 

"I cut them," you repeat.  "Got the little device for it from Jade."  You make a pincer motion with the thumb and forefinger of your free hand.  "Wasn't the best shape for troll claws, but it does the trick if you play with it a little."

 

His grip finally loosens enough that you can pull your hand away, and you make sure to look sufficiently annoyed as you do. 

 

" _Why?_ " Karkat asks.

 

"'Cause I can type about twice as fast without them in the way."  You swipe your fingers across the keyboard to illustrate.  "I don't know why I ever put up with them in the first place."

 

Rather than appeased, Karkat looks mortified.  "What kind of reason is that?" he demands, voice coming dangerously close to a crack on the last word.

 

"A good one."  You shrug.  "I'm sysadmin for the entire new empire.  If I can code twice as fast, that's better security and computing for all trollkind."

 

"It's _humiliating!_ " Karkat says.  "Don't you know highbloods used to do that to lowblood _slaves?_ "

 

"Where'd you read that, one of those romances you like to get all sticky?"

 

Karkat blushes.  Hoofbeast's-eye.  You give him a fangy grin and he scowls.  "It's true," he insists, holding up his own claws—which are admittedly fearsome.  "It's taking away your dignity, your ability to defend yourself."

 

You fold your arms and shove him back a foot with a blunt psionic burst.  He catches his breath, and his hands ball into fists.  "It's _symbolic,_ Sollux!"

 

You float a couple throwing stars off their brackets on the wall and set them whirling around you, just to be a douche.  Karkat goes a couple shades redder—it's a color you like on him, incidentally—turns on his heel with a wordless snarl, and stalks out of the block.  When you hear him throwing shit around your nutritionblock, you send the throwing stars back to their proper places, and return to your program.  Finally, a little peace.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, you're watching your program compile on the first try.  Beautiful.  When you're not busy being the worst piece of troll garbage to scuttle out of the brooding caverns, you're brilliant.  There are definitely bugs to be hunted down and culled, but you'll settle for compiling, for now.  You save onto two hard drives, a flash grub, and a remote server, then pry yourself out of your chair.

 

Your legs are all but frozen in position, and you stumble, then look around quickly to see if Karkat caught you, but he's nowhere to be seen.  You hobble through the pins and needles into the ablutionblock, restore feeling to your extremities, and take care of business before going to see if the crabby bastard has lit anything on fire to vent his temper.

 

He hasn't.  In fact, the block looks considerably cleaner and more orderly than you left it, however long ago that was, and a scent suspiciously like grubloaf wafts from the comestible incinerator.  Wait.  Did you always have one of those?  Huh.

 

Karkat's sitting at the far side of the table with his back to the door, which gives you a little lift.  You circle around to see that he's still scowling, and not meeting your eye.  "I left it in the incinerator to stay warm," he grumbles.

 

"Thanks..."  You open the comestible incinerator door, where there's a pan—okay, you're reasonably certain you never owned bakeware—of what looks like respectable grubloaf, with a slice missing.

 

"Use a _towel_ or something, fuckwit—" he begins, then subsides with a huff as you float the pan out and set it on the counter.  There's a knife sitting ready on a clean nutrition plateau, so you help yourself and sit down just as the hunger-induced vertigo hits.  He's looking out the window, though, so you think he misses the way you sway.

 

He's invaded your hive with pizza or nutrition cylinders before, but he's never cooked for you, so you're surprised to find that the grubloaf is _good_.  You chew for a while, dazed.  "This isn't entirely putrid," you say.

 

"I know."  He still won't look at you.

 

You snort.  "Guess you had to step up your nutritionblock game to keep your moirail from chewing the furniture, huh?"

 

The glare he levels at you glues you to the back of your chair.  He looks at you through narrowed eyes till you start to fidget.  Then he shrugs and says, "Baking is his thing.  He taught _me_ ," very casually, as if he hadn't just tried to melt a hole through your face.

 

You stuff grubloaf into your mouth and make a vague noise of acknowledgement.  Jesus fuck.  Why do you always forget that moirails are a no-teasing zone with him?  Maybe because you're hungry.  Better keep cramming food down your protein chute.

 

It seems he's decided that staring at you is more intimidating, and proceeds to do so while you finish with your eyes studiously on your food, and, under his growled direction, deal with the dirty nutrition plateaus and stow the leftovers in the thermal hull.  When you're done, you feel pretty good.  Your meal sac is full, you've traded dizziness for a fairly tolerable headache, and, oh yeah, you're still a code wizard who bleeds sheer genius through his clip-clawed fingertips.

 

As you leave the nutritionblock, you turn, about to suggest a romcom as a peace offering, and see Karkat headed for the front door.  "What?" you say.  "You're leaving?"

 

"Yeah," he says, back to you.

 

"You just got here."

 

"I've been here for hours, chute-whistle."

 

Sure.  He has.  But you were ignoring him, so it was hardly a visit.  "Did you seriously come here just to make grubloaf?  Was your incinerator broken?" 

 

He pauses with his hand on the latch.  "Yeah, that was it.  See ya."  He pulls at the door, then again, then rattles the handle.  He groans and turns around.  "Knock it off."

 

You maintain your psionic grip on the lock.  "You are such a pain in the waste chute," you say, annoyance tightening your jaw.  "You bitch at me for half the damn night, and then you're gone?"

 

Karkat tilts his head to one side, looks at you through half-lowered eyelids.  A muscle in his neck twitches.  "You've been telling me to get out the whole time.  I did what I came to do, now—"

 

"I'm not your moirail," you say.

 

"Ha!" he barks.  "You bet your bony, malnourished ass you're not."  He takes a few strides towards you.  "My moirail actually _listens_ to me."  He taps his temple.  "What I say actually fucking _penetrates._ "

 

"KK," you say, "what are you doing here?"

 

Karkat's forehead wrinkles, then he shakes his head and smiles, his posture relaxing.  "I don't know," he says.  "Wasting my time, clearly.  Now, will you open the door?"

 

You take a step toward him, and he moves aside, toward the wall, as if to let you pass, which makes no sense.  He frowns when you come toe to toe with him, surprised.

 

You frown back.  You don't want to just _ask_ him to stay, and you're pissed both that you want to, and that he's kind of making you.  Even you like company sometimes.  Even _his._

 

You've already said more than you should have, and you're lucky he's not genuinely angry.  If you were smart, you wouldn't press the issue, you'd just say, "Come watch a damn movie," or challenge him to play that buggy platformer you hatched last week, and he probably would.  But you're a little giddy from ingesting nutrients that didn't come in liquid form, and feeling invincible because your program compiled after several days of sleepless coding, so instead, what you say is, "If you're not pale for me, why are you always trying to keep me alive?"

 

You half expect him to blow up.  Fights with him are fun, too, when you're in the right mood.  He gets all flustered and red in the face, and if you make him mad enough, his rants careen out of control, words tumbling over each other, resulting in five-adjective pile-ups and copious grammatical casualties. 

 

There's no explosion.  He looks up at you calmly.  His hand moves so slowly to the front of your shirt that it doesn't trip your self-preservation instinct, though the smile he gives you does, but then it's too late.  "I have ulterior motives," he says, and his hand knots in the fabric of your shirt and your center of gravity shifts and your lips are on his.

 

You stumble, reach out to brace yourself against the wall, and knock Karkat into it.  He grunts but his grip doesn't falter, and he's kissing you, and you're remembering how lips feel, that they feel good when pressed, when stroked, how about that?

 

You're light-headed when his lips part from yours.  You put more of your weight onto your arms as you look down at him.  He returns your gaze steadily.  "Now open the motherfucking door," he says.

 

"Really?" you say incredulously.  "You're really going to do that and leave?"

 

"Like you said, I have a grateful moirail in my hive, waiting for my attentions."

 

"What about me?"

 

He raises an eyebrow.  "What about you?"

 

You're definitely still a little giddy.  "Maybe I want some attention," you say.

 

The corner of his mouth flickers.  "Why should I give you any?"

 

"Well, I'll stop telling you to get out."

 

"I'm honored."

 

"And, uh... you... look hot tonight."

 

Karkat's really good at looking unimpressed.  Or he just gets a lot of practice, hanging around you.  Just maybe a slight tinge of pink rises in his cheeks as he lets you sweat, but then again, that may be wishful thinking.  He snorts.  "Okay, no.  You trying to be smooth is ludicrous.  Say something suitably vile and then show me you know how to kiss."

 

You think for a second.  "You have shitty taste in kissing partners."

 

He laughs and you kiss him.  It's been a while since you kissed anyone.  You could count it out if you want to depress yourself, but that'll come later, anyway, so why rush it? 

 

Karkat's lips are warmer than yours, soft and smooth.  He's gentler with them than you imagined he would be, and you've given it more processing power than you'd admit aloud.  You pictured him ravenous and aggressive, as furious as when he argues, but he's almost tentative, tilting his head subtly one way, then another, pulling you toward him gradually, feeling you out by degrees.  Is he worried you'll change your mind?  Or that he will?

 

Your hand twitches against the wall.  You'd like to touch him, maybe just his hip to start, to bring him a little closer.  But he just said "kiss." 

 

It gives you a little shiver, the way his lips dent and part around your tongue, the little sigh.  The hot tongue rising to meet yours.  Puffs of breath against your upper lip, beginning to accelerate as his hand tightens in your shirt.  You lose yourself in the exploration of his mouth, reveling in those wet velvet touches.

 

He bumps you softly with his chin, leans back against the wall.  There's a definite pink to his skin, now, and his eyes seem to glow.  You're glad you're leaning on something.  You're glad he's here.  You're glad you are.

 

"Look," you say, "KK.  Stay the day."

 

"Okay," he says.

 

* * *

 

Karkat straddles you on the couch and kisses you so you think you may fuse into the cushions.  One hand is braced against the back of the sofa; the other cups the back of your head, as if you might get away, or like he doesn't trust you to manage your own body.  The latter might be valid, because you feel a little lost, struggling to keep up as Karkat rubs himself against you, and you're still trying to marshal your panpower to give him a decent kiss when you feel your bulges stir, and, well, at least you're sitting down.

 

"How long've you been waiting to do this?" you ask when he lets you breathe.

 

He plucks your glasses off your nose, ignoring your grunt of protest, and tosses them onto the end table. "About as long as you've been an oblivious sack of drone bait."

 

"Wow, that long?"

 

He snorts and tugs at the hem of your shirt.  "Can I take this off?"  You lift your arms and he does, kissing you when your head emerges.  He holds your arms over your horns for just long enough, just hard enough that your bulges slide out.  You groan and pull back.  He releases you and tosses your shirt aside.

 

His hands smooth up your stomach, over your chest.  His blood isn't different enough from yours that his touch should burn the way it does.  It may have something to do with the sleep deprivation.  His eyes on you are smoldering, dangerous.  "Fuck," you murmur.  "KK, I..."

 

He runs his fingers up your sides, claws tickling, making you flinch away.  "Yeah?"  He shifts back, his ass rubbing along your thighs. 

 

You bite your lip as your bulges crowd against your zipper and your pulse thuds unpleasantly in your temples.  "Can you slow down a little?"

 

Karkat leans back, frowning.  "Yeah, sorry, I—"  He starts to lift his weight off your legs and you grab his hips.

 

"No, no, not like that," you say hurriedly.  "Not what I meant."

 

He sits back down.  "What _do_ you mean?"

 

You blow out a gusty breath and give the armrest a foul look.  "That I've been awake for maybe three nights straight, and I'm in danger of passing out."

 

He lifts his eyebrows.  "Congratulations.  That is the saddest excuse for concupiscent inadequacy I've ever heard."

 

"That's not what I was talking about."

 

Karkat makes a show of trying not to smirk.

 

"Fuck you," you groan.

 

"You're too feeble, remember?"

 

"I didn't say I couldn't!  Did you take the imperial schoolfeed on how to be infuriating?  Take your stinking shirt off."

 

" _I_ actually know how to operate a garment sterilizer.  _Your_ clothes, on the other hand—Hey."  He gives you a supercilious look as you try to yank his tee over his head and come up against the roadblock of his arms.  "You sure you want less clothes on me?  I don't want the sight of my naked body turning your couch into a pail."

 

Your nostrils flare.  "I'm not sure if I want to pail you or cull you."

 

"There's only one you can cheat and use psionics for."

 

There's an idea.  The blank look of surprise on his face when you loft him into the air is worth the splitting headache that's probably in store.

 

 "You nookworm."

 

You grin at him.  "I think you underestimate my psionics."

 

"No, I accurately assess _you._ "  He folds his arms.  "Put me down."

 

"Just a minor adjustment, since you don't wanna show me whatever hideous mutation is lurking under your shirt."

 

Karkat yelps and grabs at his fly as you pop the button, but you tug the zipper past his scrabbling fingers and yank his jeans straight off his legs.  His shoes clunk to the floor.   "Sollux, you infected nooksore..."

 

"Yes?"

 

Through his dark gray boxers you can see the shape of his bulge, the beginnings of a reddish stain where the tip pushes at his waistband.  You swallow and shift your seat.

 

"Put.  Me.  Down."

 

You're starting to feel his weight between your temples—and he's sturdier than you, but he's no meteor—that's how tired you are.  You scoot over to lean against the armrest, turn Karkat away from you, and set him down between your legs.  He raises an elbow to jab you, but meets the firm grasp of your power.  He growls as you force his arm back to his side.

 

"What," you ask, "you're going to beat the shit out of me while I'm weak and pitiful?"

 

"So you want a lifetime dispensation."

 

You pull him back against you and slide your arms around his.  His hair brushes your neck, unexpectedly soft.  You duck your head to speak into his ear.  "Just now'll do."  His shoulders twitch and you lean a little closer.  "You smell a lot better than you sound."

 

"That's what happens when you perform ablutions every so—"  He inhales sharply when you nip his ear.  You give the edge a quick swipe with your tongue and he shivers.  Then his shoulders tense.

 

"KK," you say, "you promise not to bash me if I let go of your arms?"

 

"Your _arms_ aren't stopping me," he snorts.  "You'll just use psionics like a sniveling coward, anyway.  Fine.  I won't hit you."  He huffs and leans back.  He's warm and solid, heavier than he looks.  It feels really nice, except where your bulges are trapped.  You pull your hands back gingerly, but he doesn't attack.  He settles as you thread your arms around his waist.  "So, what?" he asks.  "You wanna take a nap together while you get your strength back?"

 

You ignore that and nuzzle his neck.  The clean smell of his hair, the headier scent of his skin is stronger there.  You kiss him below his jaw.  He gives a little sigh and tilts his head, offering you a smooth, gray stretch of throat which gives you sudden empathy for Kanaya.

 

Karkat's fingers curl under your left thigh and squeeze as you suck at his pulse.  He flinches when you slip your hand under his shirt.  "Your fingers are cold."

 

"So let me warm them up," you murmur against his wet skin.  The smell of it is delicious and you have to take a little bite.  He makes a tiny, sharp noise, but doesn't protest.  You hold the fold of skin lightly between your teeth and suck.

 

"Mmn..."  Karkat squirms as you run your hand up over his stomach.  His abdomen is all ridges, his skin soft except for smooth, interlocking battle scars.  Now you wish you had gone for the shirt, because the contours of him are beautiful.  Under the long sleeves and loose-fitting shirt, you never would have guessed.  You smooth your palm over the swell of one pectoral, run your thumb over it, feeling the slight give of the flesh over the muscle.  "Nn, Sollux..."

 

"Hm?"  You slide around to his side, find the wide, jagged scar there.  Your other hand kneads the flesh at his waist.  Karkat wiggles his ass against your crotch and you try not to groan.

 

"Sollux, your hands feel weird."

 

"Aren't they warm enough yet?"

 

"Not cold.  They're too soft."  He undulates between your arms like a slitherbeast, rubbing against your chest, your trapped bulges.  Your nooks contract.  You shudder.

 

"Soft?" you repeat.  You neglect your skin till it cracks during the dry seasons, and your fingers are peppered with calluses and burn scars from various engineering projects.

 

"Your claws."  His voice is close to a whine and it twists something in your gut.  Your arms tighten around him.

 

"You really care about that?"

 

"I didn't say I cared," he grumbles.  "Just makes it more humiliating to know you.  And it feels—"

 

You drag your right hand deliberately from his left hip to his right thigh, trailing briefly across the damp shape of his bulge under his boxers.  He breaks off with a gasp and his hips roll up.  The color rises in the slice of his cheekbone you can see.  You trace your lips along his jaw.  "Blunt claws are good for more than typing.  Can I show you?"

 

"Where?  I mean what?"  You knead his pectoral with your left hand.  His breath catches.

 

You slip your fingers slowly towards his inner thigh.  He's softer here than in his torso, and his temperature increases as you move down. 

 

Karkat squeezes his legs together around your hand.  "What're you gonna do?"

 

"Get you off."

 

He snorts, but it doesn't come off as haughty as you're certain he intends.  "Yeah.  How?"

 

You waggle your fingers.  "With these."

 

"I can jerk my bulge just fine with claws of a respectable length," he says, but his legs relax a little.

 

"Let me give it a shot," you say.  "Then mock my methods, if you can."

 

"Oh, I'm sure I can."

 

You press your hand down along the curving juncture of groin and thigh.  With his legs held together, it's warm, soft, kinda cozy.  He wouldn't like any of those adjectives, and for once you're tactful enough not to share your thoughts.  Slowly, you spread your fingers, let them glide over the soft flesh near his nook.

 

"Hey..." Karkat begins.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"That's not..."

 

"Your bulge?  I'm aware."

 

Through the fabric of his boxers, you feel the heat rise as you cup your hand over the mound of his nook.  All that tender, vulnerable flesh under your fingers.  You squeeze him a little tighter around the chest and nuzzle against his neck.  "Mm, KK..."

 

He makes a soft "mmf" noise as you start moving your hand.  You rub very lightly at first, up and down.  Karkat shifts his shoulders against you.  His legs relax a bit more.

 

As you rub more firmly, the damp spot on his boxers spreads.  You kiss his neck and he leans his head back against your left shoulder with a sigh.  His bulge twists above your hand, tip peeking out above his waistband.  Your own bulges are clamoring for release as Karkat's fluids wet your palm.  You part his lips through the cotton and he jerks.

 

"You okay?"

 

"Of course I'm okay!" he blusters.

 

You lick his chin.  "Just checking."  Your fingers twitch, press in further on each downward stroke as his breathing quickens.

 

He gives a disappointed little moan when you pull your hand back.  "You're... stopping?"

 

You pluck at his waistband, and his bulge slides up over his abdomen.  "No," you say, "I just wanna get these outta the way.  That alright?"

 

He frowns, humming thoughtfully.  "I... uh..."

 

"It's fine if you don't wanna."

 

"No, I just..."

 

"What, you shy?"

 

"I'm not shy!"

 

"You can't be any more mutated than I am down there, I can promise you that much."

 

"What—really?"

 

You grin.  "If you're really nice, I'll show you."

 

"Okay..." he says slowly.  "I guess I can lose these."  He leans forward, but you pull him back.

 

"Allow me."  You hoist his legs with psionics, lifting his ass into the air.  Over his indignant squeak, you send his boxers flying into the opposite corner of the room.

 

"Give me some warning!" he growls as you deposit his plush rump gently back onto your lap.  It _is_ pretty plush, and you make a mental note to get a proper look later, because even against your jeans, it feels glorious, round and firm, and...  Okay, focus.

 

"I did!" you protest.  You lean over his shoulder and suck in an appreciative breath.  Despite his height, Karkat's legs are shaped by an elegant sweep of muscle, with just a little softness near the tops of his thighs that makes you want to bite him there.  No, seriously, Captor, focus.

 

His bulge is your favorite shade of red, absolutely glistening wet.  Respectably long, and thick enough at the base that your nooks give a greedy little twinge.  You can't see much of his nook the way he's sitting, legs together again; just a hint of that same gleaming red.  "Fffuck, KK," you sigh.  "You're a belligerent little shit, but you're gorgeous."

 

"Who the fuck are you to call me belligerent?"

 

"A _taller_ belligerent shit."

 

Karkat harrumphs, then grabs your hand as you attempt to pick up where you left off.  "Whoa!" he says.  "Where do you think you're putting your—"

 

"You inspected my fingers earlier, remember?  There is not a trace of claw left to trouble your soft and slippery bits."

 

"Ugh, Sollux."

 

You snicker.  "Trust me, KK.  I wouldn't hurt you." 

 

He shivers.  Or is that your imagination?  His fingers unfurl slowly, and he pulls his hands away.  "If you do..."

 

You nip his earlobe.  The way he tenses is delicious.  "KK," you say, "relax.  I don't want you any crabbier than you are.  My hands are two-hundred percent guaranteed nook-safe."  You slide your hand down, skirting his bulge.  "Christ, you're dripping."

 

"Fuck you.  And what do you mean, _two_ -hundred?"

 

"I told you, I'll show you later."  You nudge your knuckles against his legs.  "Give me a little space, here."  Karkat grumbles, but lets his knees fall apart, which lets you get your hand all the way over his nook.  He catches his breath as you dip one finger between the lips.  His folds are hot and plump with blood, and your finger is immediately covered in material and lubrication.  Your nostrils flare.  "KK..."

 

"Y-yeah?" 

 

As much as you like Karkat's aggressive side, it does something to your bloodpusher when he lets his uncertainties show.  You kiss his cheek.  "No, nothing."

 

He leans back hard against you as you begin stroking.  You just run a couple fingers through his folds, mapping the landscape, seeing how he reacts.  He takes short, panicky breaths, and his legs are actually shaking with the effort of keeping them open.  You still your hand and just cup him again.  "KK, look at me," you say.

 

He turns his head and you kiss him.  He pushes up hard against your lips, his tongue spearing into your mouth.  He reaches back for you with one hand and—whether by accident or design—grabs your ass.  Your hips jerk. 

 

You resume your explorations slowly, and Karkat makes a sharp noise, then kisses you harder.  You stroke his side, rub lazy circles over his grub scar.

 

Your pulse races as Karkat squirms against you, hips shifting, rubbing his nook against your palm.  Your fingers slide lower, and you brush over his entrance.  Your trapped bulges thrash.

 

He breaks the kiss with a gasp.  "Sollux..."

 

Your breathing sounds loud and you try to rein it in.  "KK," you murmur, "let me do it?"  You press your middle finger against the opening of his nook.  It twitches.

 

Karkat makes a soft, anxious noise that squeezes something in your chest.  You kiss him quickly on the lips, then the cheek. "I promise," you say, "I _swear_ it won't hurt.  I'll be careful, and if you don't like anything, you can beat the grub sauce out of me, no psionics."

 

His right hand balls in the hem of his shirt and he looks down so you can't see his face.  "I'll hold you to that."

 

"Is that a yes?"

 

He gives a quick, tight nod.  "Yeah," he whispers.

 

You hug him to you and press your cheek to the side of his head.  "Okay..."  Very gradually, you press your finger in.

 

"Oh, shit, don't scratch me, don'tscratchmedon'tscratchme..."

 

"KK, relax..."

 

He's already got a death grip on your ass, which alternates between arousing and painful, so you flinch a little when he reaches back with his other hand.  He gets a fistful of your jeans, thankfully, and twists the hell out of that.

 

"Shitshitshitshit..."

 

"KK."

 

"Shit—What?"

 

"Finger's in."

 

"Huh?"  You waggle it and he squawks.  "Oh my god."

 

"Please note that you are not bleeding from anywhere."

 

He stops and breathes for a second.  His muscles contract around your finger, which makes your eyes cross.  You take a deep breath through your nose.  "True," Karkat concedes.  "Uh, okay."

 

"Are you going to stop freaking out, now?"

 

"Maybe."  He tilts his head, looking at your hand.  "So you didn't slice me to ribbons.  I still fail to see the point."

 

"I need you to calm down for that."

 

"I'm calm."

 

You wince.  "Then your hands are way the fuck too strong."

 

"Oh... sorry."  He loosens his grip.

 

"Good.  Now..."  You pull your finger out a little, then push back in.  Karkat's chest rises and falls unevenly under your arm.  He's blazing hot and incredibly slick; your finger glides smoothly into him.  You rock back and forth, just feeling him, the shifting muscle, the wet, ridged walls. 

 

It seems unreal, all of a sudden.  You've known this foul-mouthed off-by-one error of a troll for more than six sweeps.  After all that sniping, all that awkward attraction you thought was one-sided (the worst number of sides), now he's here, in your arms, half dressed and panting, and you know what he feels like inside, and—

 

"Sollux..."

 

"Yeah, KK?"

 

"It just feels weird."

 

—and trust him to ruin it.  "It doesn't feel good?"

 

He tucks his chin against his chest and shakes his head.

 

"Does it hurt?"

 

He shakes his head again.  Here's something new: A quiet Vantas.  You bump your head lightly against his.  "Can I try a bit more?"

 

There's a pause, then he nods.  You kiss his temple, then his ear.  His nook twitches around your finger.  "Hmm," you say.  Karkat makes a quizzical sound.  "Just thinking."

 

"So that's what's burning."

 

"Mm."  You stretch your finger into him as far as it will go, then, keeping your hand still, slowly curl it, tracing the upper wall of his nook.  You extend it again halfway, slowly pull back.  Karkat huffs out a breath.  You trace circles with the pad of your finger, deep in, then shallower.  This is roughly where it should be, you think.  _You've_ got a spot just around here that you can use to finish yourself off all by itself, if you're pressed for time.  On the second pass, with your finger about halfway curled, Karkat's shoulders tense.  "Good?" you ask.

 

"It's kinda nice there," he murmurs, noncommittal.

 

"I'm gonna put another finger in, okay?"

 

Karkat slides his feet back and forth over the cushions.  You feel his muscles shift around you and your lids flutter.  He sighs.  "Mm-hm."

 

Two is already enough that you have to push, and Karkat's back stiffens, leaning against you almost as if he's trying to escape.  You pause.  "You okay?  Is that too much?"

 

He exhales through his nose and shakes his head.  "Uh-uh.  Don't stop."

 

Wow, you like the sound of that.  Very slowly, you push through the resistance.  He takes a deep, harsh breath as your second knuckles sink in, and you feel the shudder move through him.  "Good?" you ask.  He nods.

 

You try again to find that spot you like, along the roof of his nook.  The tension fades from his body and he sighs.  You frown.  It shouldn't be a surprise he's not wired the same way, even apart from the blatant structural differences.  You draw your fingers back and Karkat catches his breath sharply as your knuckles stretch his entrance.

 

You still your hand there, then pull your fingers apart, just a little.

 

"Nn!"  Karkat arches against you, his knees drawing up.

 

"Ohh," you say, starting to smile.  "Here, huh?"  You close your fingers, then stretch them again.

 

"Aah!"  Karkat's claws prick through your jeans, but you're too pleased with yourself to mind.

 

"So, maybe..."  You pull all the way out, then push in to just past the knuckles.  Karkat makes a muffled keening sound, then his teeth click shut.  You grin.  You knew you'd get it.  "KK."

 

He looks around at you, then strains up to kiss you.  If his goal is to muffle the sounds he makes as you start rocking in and out of him, it's a failure.  A constant stream of little moans and cries issues from his throat, vibrates against your lips.  When he pulls back, his cheeks are dark, his pupils wide.  "Sollux," he says, and you've never liked the sound of your name this much, "more."

 

You're too floored by that look to muster a clever response; you just nod.  His stomach trembles as you pass your other hand over it.  The dripping tip of his bulge nudges against your hand as soon as you brush it, then curls around your wrist.  Karkat bites his lip and tucks his head down.  You wrap your hand around the base of his bulge and his nook squeezes your fingers.

 

"Oh," Karkat says softly.

 

"Like that?"

 

"Mmmmm-hm."

 

Just the lightest stroking of his bulge makes his nook tighten until it takes muscle to move your fingers.  Karkat presses himself hard against your chest, and whines as you stretch his entrance.  You kiss the dusky red tip of his ear and stroke leisurely up and down his bulge as you curl your fingers slowly into his nook.  You give his bulge a few pulls, feeling each one in the twitching and tightening of his nook, then slowly draw your fingers most of the way out.

 

Karkat makes this disconsolate little noise that sends chills through you.  "Hey," you murmur.  "Am I doing okay?  Do you want something else?"

 

He shakes his head vigorously.  He gives a warbling moan as you push back in.  "Just don't stop, Sollux, p—mmph."  He bites his lip again.

 

You blow out a breath and oblige him.  He feels so good to touch, and the sounds he makes send sympathetic twinges running along your nooks, have you grinding involuntarily against him.  His claws pierce your jeans and dent your leg, and you're sure you'll see a mark on your other thigh from how tight he's holding the fabric there.  His feet skate over the couch cushions, knees rising and falling independent of each other.  Nervous laughter bubbles up from your throat.

 

"What?" he growls.  His voice nearly breaks on the word, and it's so fucking endearing you're not sure what the hell to do with yourself.

 

"I've never seen you this wound up, and it's _you_ we're talking about.  I'm worried you're gonna literally explode."

 

"Nnnngh, fuck, I think I'm close," he says.

 

"To going nova?"

 

His back arches slowly.  His head lands on your shoulder.  "You're such an asshole," he sobs.  "You are the fucking worst, Sollux."

 

Your breath stutters in your chest.  His nook clenches around you like it's trying to swallow your hand.  His bulge is jumping, straining through your fist.  Karkat's torso describes a perfect arc from your lap to your shoulder, and his legs tremble, trying in spite of him to close.  You hook his knees with your psionics, pull them wider apart.  Karkat gasps, presses his forehead against your neck.

 

"Yeah, I'm an asshole," you agree.  "But you like me."

 

He whines through clenched teeth.  "I have shitty concupiscent taste."

 

"In fact," you say, "I think you _love_ me."

 

"Oh, god, fuck you so much."  His hips grind down, driving your fingers deeper.  "Sollux, shit, _shit..._ "

 

"I think you stay up mornings, having feelings jams with your moirail about how much you wanna get into a quadrant with me.  Talking about how sexy you find it that I can code spirals around you."

 

"You bee-fondling pailstain..."

 

"Only the next time you're rolling around in the pile with him, you'll be talking about how good I am with these clawless fingers."

 

You push a third finger into him, and Karkat screams, rising clear off your lap.

 

It's too late for the couch, but you manage to decaptchalogue a pail and float it into position before the whole block is anointed.  You get it set down safely and far away just as Karkat collapses out of his awkward bridge onto you.

 

"Uunngh."  He slides off you onto his side, throws an arm over your waist, and buries his face in your chest.  "Shut up."

 

"I didn't say anything."

 

"This is a preemptive shut up, because I know there's something repugnant brewing between your pointy ears, so just fucking choke on it."

 

What's actually going on between your pointy ears is inventory:  Your bulges hurt.  Your nooks are extremely upset there's nothing inside either of them.  You tell them all to shove it, because Karkat nestling against you is giving you feelings you need more time to process.  You wish he wasn't wearing a shirt.  But you're happy he isn't wearing pants.  You're sad that the benefit of all that skin is lost on your own denim-clad legs, but, again, given the potential genital riot you'd have on your hands, the pants need to stay on.  His breath feels good against your chest.  It mists on your skin.

 

"I told you clipping them had its advantages," you say.

 

"I told you to choke on it, you sludge-sucking earfucker."

 

You raise an eyebrow.  "I'm not your moirail, I don't have to listen to you."

 

Karkat grunts.

 

"KK..."

 

"Yeah, fine, I'll admit you're pretty fucking handy with your soft-ass, human-tipped, domesticated munchbeast paw stubs."

 

"Stop, I'm blushing."

 

He groans.  "Give me a second to recover, then I'll shut you up properly."

 

You swallow.  The pantsbound contingent of your decision-making apparatus clamors but is ignored.  "No, uh... KK."

 

" _What._ "

 

"You do... wanna fill a quadrant with me, right?"

 

His tousled head rises above yours.  He looks tired and disheveled and disgruntled and just slightly chagrined.  "Was that not obvious, or has malnutrition forced your body to cannibalize what was left of your thinkpan?"  You open your mouth and he adds, " _Yes._ "

 

You grin, and he gives you half a one back.  Then your brow wrinkles.  "Which one?"

 

He looks at you for a long moment, good humor draining from his face.

 

God _damn_ it, where's the Undo button on this thing?

 

The couch bounces as he heaves himself off it.  "I'm commandeering your ablutionblock," he says, and leaves the block without bothering to look for his jeans.  You do what anyone would: watch his bare ass until it disappears.

 

Then you watch the empty doorway for a while, backtracking.  There was a correct response.  Yours wasn't it.  But there wasn't exactly a menu, so you're not sure what the hell you _should_ have said.  Maybe you should have listened when he told you to choke on it.  If your life was properly programmed, it would have save states, and you'd have used one right there, and... No, let's face it, you'd probably have forgotten, and you'd still be screwed.

 

At least disappointment in yourself is starting to make your bulges retract.  You haul yourself upright and take stock.  The couch is... a mess, but not unsalvageable.  You pull off the cushions, hunt down the various items of clothing scattered around the room, and schlep them all into the garment sterilization block.  Hospitality—even to hivecrashers—probably means you should clean Karkat's clothes before tomorrow evening, so you toss them into the machine, then strip and add yours as well.  Naked, you trudge upstairs to use the other ablutionblock.

 

* * *

 

Karkat's in the hall leading to your front door when you return, fully dressed in dark jeans and a thick sweater.  He's leaning against the wall, frowning at his clasped hands.  He looks up at your approach  like you caught him checking your browser history.  Your heart sinks.

 

"You're going?" you ask.  Load saved state.  Load saved state, godfuckingdammit, you _must_ be smart enough to pick the right answer.

 

Karkat nods.  "Yeah.  There's a couple hours left before dawn, and I... think I need to talk to Gamzee."

 

Your shoulders slump.  Then you feel pathetic, and make an effort to straighten your spine.  "Yeah, okay."  You give him a wry look.  "About me?"

 

"You, and... stuff.  I'm sorry, I just... need to, or I won't be able to sleep."

 

"Alright," you say.  You flip the lock with your powers.

 

"Sollux!"

 

"I _opened_ it!"

 

"Oh."  Karkat snorts and takes a step towards the door.

 

"Hey."

 

"Mm?"

 

"What would you really have done if it was fishface who cut my claws?"

 

"Slit him open and served you whatever I found inside with grub sauce."  He says it so calmly, with such utter sincerity, that you wish fervently _you_ had someone to curl up with in a soft, secure pile.

 

"Holy fuck, KK."

 

He shrugs and opens the door.  Outside, the moons have set, and the sky near the horizon is a deep purple.  The cool air leaks in and you run your hand over the honkbeastflesh that rises on one arm.  You don't want him to go, but it would probably be wrong to ask.

 

Karkat looks over his shoulder.  "If you can be civil to Gamzee, you can come with me."

 

You look up.  "Really?"

 

He shrugs again.  "Only _if._   It'd be a problem if my matesprit and my moirail couldn't get along."

 

You start to smile.  "So, define civil."

 

"I'm leaving."

 

"Wait!  Just let me get something!"  You jog back into your leisureblock and captchalogue your husktop.  You skid down the hallway and nearly fall over the doorsill.  A strong pair of arms catches you around the waist and sets you on your feet in the dirt.

 

"Civil," says Karkat, heading down the overgrown path through what passes for your lawnring.  "The opposite of how you interact with me."

 

"Oh, sure.  I can handle that."  You pull your door shut behind you, adjust for vertigo, and run after him.


End file.
